Quickies
by Dreamicide
Summary: A collection of short smut stories centered around our favorite writer and duck-girl. — FakirAhiru
1. In a Dressing Room

**notes:** so every once in a while i write smut for this pairing that's short or nonsensical. here's where i'll be dumping them from now on. just a collection of good old fashioned PWP, i suppose. all of these will be post-series and take place after ahiru has been rehumanized unless otherwise stated.  
><strong>i own nothing.<strong>

**2014 note:** going back and rereading a lot of these, i'm finding that quite a few of them have unfortunate implications where the line of consent isn't clearly placed and a character pressures or pushes another into sex. i suppose back then i thought i looked at it as just more silly banter between them, but now i'd be more comfortable if i left at least some sort of warning that they're present nonetheless.

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><p><strong>If you're going to be frustrated then it might as well be sexual<strong>

Ahiru sighs, chin leaning on her hands propped to their elbows on the vanity. Staring back at her is a woman with tied up hair and colorful make-up accentuating the fullness of her lips and curve of her eyes. She pokes at the mirror, not quite sure if she likes the image. It doesn't quite look like _Ahiru_ but at the same time it's someone who actually looks pretty, she thinks. Slowly, she's improving at applying the cosmetics to her face without any help. It will come in handy once the special date arrives.

Gazing at the unfamiliar picture staring right back at her, Ahiru hears a quiet creak. Her eyes catch the movement of the door behind her from the mirror, and she watches as Fakir steps in. She doesn't move as he walks up to her, taking a shoulder in each hand and giving a squeeze. She wants to ask him if she looks fine, but the words don't come as she observes the depth of his eyes slowly changing.

They look at each other through their reflections, both silent.

Ahiru has the temptation to turn around and lightly kick him away—he really isn't allowed in that room, and she was pressed for time to get ready. Instead, she gives him a questioning look, unmoving. He looks right back at her, and in the next moment she can feel his grip on her shoulders tightening strongly.

Her words are caught in her throat as he suddenly lifts her up and spins her around, sitting her right on the vanity desk before shoving her back against the mirror and pressing himself to her. She squeaks, and demands him to get off because—he doesn't hear the reasons. He can only feel the muffled vibrations of her shouts against his lips.

She huffs against him, and he can practically feel the roll of her eyes. But in the next moment she's pushing back against him, and he allows a smirk to pass through as he climbs more thoroughly on top of her and holds her in place, fingers trickling through that perfectly placed bun on her head. Ahiru makes an indignant noise upon feeling him mess up the strands, but it's quickly ignored.

It doesn't take long to remove those fancy clothes of hers and eventually he has her bare, hands running appreciatively over her skin. He cups a breast in each hand and she arches before sighing, legs rising to take a hold around his waist. He doesn't expect the sudden squeeze and his arousal instinctively jerks against her thigh with a grunt. Oh, that definitely brings a triumphant grin out of her, and through her clouded mind the redhead manages to slide her hands to his backside, constricting fingers guiding him to helplessly buck against her once more.

He retaliates with a stroke and a pinch against her most sensitive areas, leaving her releasing him to squirm. When her defense is down, Fakir goes in for the kill. He bites, sucks, and licks at her shoulders and breasts and every little spot he knows can make her thrash. And _god_, her moans are the most beautiful sound in the world. But when she unexpectedly has enough mind to reach below and caress him in a way that drives him _mad_ with a strained groan, he allows his dress pants to slide down his legs, hissing in her ear.

The mirror rattles behind them as he grabs at her thighs and shoves himself inside, teeth gritting at the way she practically _screams_ his name aloud to the room. He kisses her, and she holds tight to him as he begins moving. It's a steady drum beat, blood pumping relentlessly in their ears. He can hear her small gasps, and the woman manages to elicit a moan out of him whenever her legs squeeze around his rear, guiding him back in. His hands reach down to grab at her own, and she arches to him on a strangled cry.

Eventually he's bucking, and the mirror shifts precariously on its hinges as her back slams against it over and over. Fakir leans his head down, tasting the salt of her shoulder on his tongue. Ahiru can only helplessly jerk her hips back against his, completely failing to recall her previous confusion at him invading her room during preparation hours.

When there's fire burning in his gut, he grunts and begins to coax her, tells her to come, come with him. Ahiru doesn't think; she listens, and that tightness and heat collide almost violently into each other. Their guts clench and toes curl together; both gasping and trying to do everything they can just to get even more impossibly close to each other. Their muscles convulse and they spill out the tension they had been working together on for the last several minutes, air escaping their lungs in strangled moans.

When all is said and done, the tiny dressing room is almost rank in perspiration and breath. But it's still hard to think straight, and Ahiru simply allows herself to slowly come back down like a small leaf in the soft breeze.

Her lazy eyes look at him. The afterglow is potent, but she still reaches up to poke him on the forehead with a raspy voice.

"…You…jerk. How can I…how'm I s'posed to…?"

She feels him chuckle against her neck, and her hazy eyes widen. It suddenly clicks with her—he did it all on purpose.

Flustered, the redhead takes both hands and shoves at his chest. "H-Hey, you—! You big—!"

"You should be getting ready, you know," he says, lifting his head up to sneer at her. "Don't want to keep the rest of the cast waiting, now."

Ahiru's jaw drops, and whines as he steps back to pull out of her. "…How…how'm I supposed to go to dress rehearsal NOW? I can't DANCE like this!" She gestures to her spent and naked body, legs still quivering from the intensity of his thrusts.

Pulling back up his black pants and cracking his neck with a palm, Fakir simply replies, "Don't give up so quickly now, I'm sure you can do it if you try." But it's obvious by the tone that he's mocking. Turning to go back out the door, he glances over his shoulder with a smirk. "Break a leg. Can't wait to watch." In the next moment he's disappeared, the door shutting behind him.

And once she's alone in the room again, disheveled and still catching her breath, Ahiru practically steams at the ears. He did all of that on _purpose!_ Just so he could see her tripping around and messing up, when for once she was one of the main roles in the ballet! And now she has to get dressed and re-do all of that make-up all over again…not to mention the fact that she can barely stay _still_ when she's so exhausted like this. It wasn't fair! The stupid jerk!

…

…But on the contrary, as Fakir strides down the backstage hall and readjusts the hair in his ponytail, he can't help but feel that she deserved every little moment.

Serves her right for getting him all hot and bothered a week prior just as he was about to give a presentation of his _own_, introducing his latest works at the local book chain. He could barely contain himself when up in front of all those people, and all because of her damn attentions on him in the minutes prior. The moron.

And all things considered, Fakir showed _much_ more mercy on Ahiru than she had to him, so she should be grateful of his 'compassion.'

At least _he_ actually allowed her to _release_.

**End**


	2. In the Shower

**notes:** half-assed explanation is that fakir and ahiru are inside the storybook kingdom for a visit, but quickly become bored of the prim and proper atmosphere. so they decide to be a little adventuresome in the guest showers. they are the worst house guests ever, basically.

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><p><strong>Nothing like the smell of debauchery in the morning<strong>

Fakir didn't care much for the ostentatious ballrooms and lavish feasts. Neither did he step back and marvel at the guest bath chambers with their porcelain tiles and golden faucets lined along the pipes. Fakir's interest did not lie in interior decorating. The girl pressed back against the walls of said bathroom, however, was a different story.

The hot water sprayed against his back as he pressed against her, hand guiding her upper thigh to lift up and hook around his waist. Her head threw back on a quiet cry as her cheeks flushed in red, the steam of the shower sticking locks of hair to her forehead. Moving helplessly with the hand cupping her heat and pumping digits into her juncture, her hands clutched desperately at his shoulders as if to ground herself. But he wouldn't allow her to, darting forward to bite at her neck before stroking the wet skin with his tongue. She arched herself toward him with everything she had, raking her nails down his arms and ending her last gasp with a breathy pant of his name.

He licked and squeezed and pleased her, completely ignoring the intricate design of the lavish bathroom. And he was completely unaware of the quiet sound of a door opening, soft pads of feet across the tiles, and the sudden squeak of a faucet handle at the sink—

"**AGH!**"

Fakir jumped and flailed on a strangled yelp, the soothing stream of water at his back suddenly morphing into a barrage of what felt like ice needles stinging into his skin. He jerked forward, suddenly releasing Ahiru's leg and dropping his hand from her center as he tried making sense of just what the hell had happened.

The small chuckle and quick apology before sliding back out the door was all Fakir needed to know. Whipping his head around and smacking the ice-cold drenched hair to his neck, he bellowed out, "_Goddamn it, Mytho!"_ to the door, which had unfortunately already been closed off.

What made it all worse was that they couldn't even finish after the interruption. Once Ahiru got the case of the giggles, all she could do was point and snort at his pathetically shivering body before he abruptly dropped her completely and left her to slide down the wall. Fuming, Fakir stepped out of the shower and grabbed at the nearest towel, leaving Ahiru to clutch her stomach and double over in laughter.

**End**


	3. With Ink on Paper

**notes:** ...well this one's pretty bad.

**2014 notes:** here's another one that appears sketchy. while it is consensual, the beginning is made to appear as though it's dubious.

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><p><strong>These things are just repressed<strong>

Fakir could tell she knew what he was up to. It would be hard not to figure him out, after everything they've already done.

Him sitting there at the desk, robe hanging from his shoulders and quill carefully hovering over the parchment, it was easy enough to guess. Especially since she had already stripped herself down to her underclothes, for reasons she couldn't fathom.

An eyebrow raised itself at her, and Ahiru only stared back. She shifted from one foot to another, watching as he roved hungry eyes over her form. The air was tense in the silence.

…

…And then, out of nowhere, he began to write.

_Scratch scratch, scratch_, the quill moved cleanly over the parchment, looping and spreading around black ink in an art. She was too far away to decipher the words he created, but in the next moment she found that she didn't care. He continued to look at her as he wrote, and all thoughts that had nothing to do with him disappeared.

Almost unconsciously her feet started to move, carrying her across the room and closer to the young man. Maybe she should have thought about why she suddenly showed up in his room bare in her under things. Maybe she should have been concerned with asking what he was writing. But for some reason, no such words even began to crawl out of her throat.

Soon she stood right before him, fingers toying with each other right over her bellybutton. The wood of the flooring was cold under her feet, and she felt completely exposed to the writer in that moment, gooseflesh prickling over her skin. She dropped her gaze and looked away shyly, voice completely silent.

_Scratch, scratch._

Something Ahiru couldn't quite interpret beckoned her to look back up, and so she did. Something in his deep green eyes made her waver, but she refused to allow her eyes to wander once again. Not once did he take his gaze away from her, hand busy over the desk, writing. Ahiru wondered for a moment, curious as to what sort of story he may have been creating, but she didn't turn her head to read.

Even so, when his hand shifted to create a new line, Ahiru was dimly able to make out a scarce few words.

…_so entirely devoted to her knight that she was, the princess drew forward…_

But before she was able to read any more, her attention was once again almost forcibly grabbed away from the parchment, her eyes reuniting with his.

Ahiru watched intently as his lips slightly parted, and in the next second something tugged at her chest. She dove forward, taking his face in her hands and pressing her lips to his with a force she had never exerted before. He didn't move under her touch—but she could still hear the _scratch scratch_ of his quill.

He continued writing, even as Ahiru kissed him. She licked his lips, drawing a surprised intake of breath when she began trailing dainty fingers down his chest. Ahiru wasn't sure why she suddenly felt the need to do such things, especially when they came seemingly out of nowhere. But Fakir wasn't stopping her or asking her what she was doing. So the redhead continued.

From one moment to the next, she was on her knees before him. She kissed the sides of his knees while playing with the tie of his robe, her movements almost mechanical. Ahiru wanted to ask why she was doing this—she never kissed such strange places on him before. But the will to speak was gone—or blocked off, which sounded much more appropriate for some reason.

Fakir usually never made much noise. He was always a quiet person by nature, really. But when Ahiru tucked her hand underneath the flap of his robe and drew out his length, the reverberating groan came so abruptly from above that the young woman had to pause and glance back up at him.

He looked back down to her, green eyes hazy and fingers slightly quivering as they continued to flow over the parchment. She gave him blue doe eyes, hand slowly beginning to move up and down over the skin and watching with intent at every little change in his features. A small twitch in his lip, the quietest of gasps, eyes closing to roll when she gave him a squeeze….

And then Fakir suddenly stopped writing, quill dropping silently to the desk as he let out a strained noise through his chest. When she felt a slight jerk of his hips against her working fingers, Ahiru paused, blinking at nothing in particular with her lips parting. For those few seconds, she was dazed—unaware of why she was suddenly in Fakir's room or why she was holding his—

That moment ended quickly, though. When she suddenly heard the _scratch scratch _of his quill again, all questions seemed to dissipate once more. He fumbled once or twice with the writing tool as Ahiru resumed stroking, but she paid no heed.

Instead, she felt her chin being lifted by the invisible force, gazing up to his eyes. His own were half-lidded, but somewhere in the depths, if Ahiru looked closely enough, she would have seen something akin to surprise as his breathing became ragged.

They looked at each other for some long moments. And then he began to write again.

Ahiru lowered her head, eyelashes fluttering and lips parting.

…

She didn't remember exactly what happened in the last half-hour, but when she returned to full consciousness, Ahiru immediately understood what must have occurred.

Her lips curved into a sweet smile upon seeing Fakir almost melted in a puddle against the chair, head lolled back and jaw hanging loosely open. She sat completely naked and straddled on his lap, hands lightly placed on his hips. His chest heaved, and with every movement she could feel him inside of her, soft, and slowly slipping out.

Swallowing thickly, Fakir lifted his head forward. A small bead of sweat rolled down his neck as he tried catching his breath. "Ahi…you…"

The redhead grinned. Almost devilishly.

"Wow, Fakir," she began, one set of fingers slowly trailing up his side and over his shoulder. "I never knew you could…that you'd write…that you wanted such…"

Well, maybe he wasn't the only one left gasping.

Even so, she couldn't help but tease him about it, just a little. "You sure, ah…wrote a _lot_, huh?"

The man below her said nothing, shifting slightly in his seat.

"Sooo…" she beamed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Can I read this one?"

"…Sure."

Sliding a hand through disheveled hair, Fakir blinked blearily before leaning over to grab at the small pile of papers and handing it over to the girl in his lap, a blush still hanging loosely on his cheeks. He averted his eyes, suddenly finding something about the blank wall fascinating.

She took the story gingerly, fingers trailing over the words. With a giggle, she spoke. "I never thought that you'd want me to…do _those_ sort of things. And so many of them…."

"…Hn," was his only reply, waiting for her to go ahead and read.

And so she began, blue eyes going back and forth as she let the story sink in. It was a secret little activity they did time to time, as Ahiru was always curious in new ways she could make Fakir feel good without feeling insecure about herself. But even then, it took a while before she could convince Fakir to write those sorts of things. When he agreed, though, Ahiru managed to discover many new likes and dislikes he contained. It was always interesting and she looked forward to seeing how she could please him.

As she continued reading, though, she noticed that this story was a little…different. And after a few moments, her smile began slowly dropping to a small part in her lips as her eyes widened.

Fakir watched her every expression, and only commented when her face blanched. "I never knew…that _you_ wanted to do all of those things."

Ahiru's jaw dropped, and suddenly she began waving the papers in the air. "This is—! What do you mean you—? _Cheater!_"

"I didn't cheat at all. I just wrote a story," he said, his lips curling just the slightest.

The blush immediately returned to her face with a vengeance, and she glanced back down at the parchment in her lap. The words stared almost mockingly back up at her.

_With a soft graceful movement that showed how so entirely devoted to her knight that she was, the princess drew forward, determined to express her every nuance of love. She proceeded to administer affections she could only conjure in her deepest and darkest thoughts, such actions that she hesitated to show before…._

As the paragraphs went on, the handwriting only became more sporadic and unsteady, until they became little more than erratic lines across the pages.

"Y-You…I—!"

His features drew forth until it was fully teasing. He really wanted to see if there was anything Ahiru was too shy to ask about trying out something, but after all of that…it took him completely by surprise.

"…Only in your deepest, darkest thoughts, huh…."

The redness returned to her face until she looked like a beet. And then she abruptly shoved the story at his face, pages flying about everywhere as she grew flustered while her arms flailed at her sides.

**End**


	4. On a Marathon

**notes: **whenever i try writing smut with fakir and ahiru, they end up arguing with each other instead. oy. also what are titles. **  
>i own nothing.<strong>

**2014 notes:** woah holy shit this one is sketchy as fuck and i'm so sorry i let it slip without a warning for so long. again, i once thought of it as another way to write silly banter between them but with such a subject it instead comes out with much worse unfortunate implications, so please tread with caution.

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><p><strong>She's just a love machine that won't work for nobody but him<br>**

They lay sprawled next to each other, breathless. His eyes close but he can still see her expression behind his lids as her warm breath fans out over the side of his face. He's not sure what to say—there's only so many times he can ask her if she's all right in one night before the question becomes mere common courtesy.

She leans in closer, soft sounds pealing from her throat as she lifts herself up to plant a light press on his temple. "Fakir," she breathes, hand trailing over his shoulder. She plays with a lock of dark hair as she gathers her bearings, and finally finds it in herself to speak coherent sentences again. "…Let's go again."

His response is immediate. "No." And he turns himself over to his side, resting his head on a forearm. The sheets drag across his legs as he stubbornly creases his brow, already predicting her following words.

Ahiru blinks, her eyebrows shooting up in confusion. "Wha—? But Fakir, I thought—!"

"No."

This time it elicits a pout out of her, and she follows right after him to lean over his bare shoulder. "Come on, Fakir, why not?"

He clenches his teeth while slamming his eyes shut. It's a ridiculous relationship they have when a 'moment' can be broken by something such as asking for _more_ sex. It's even worse to say that he's one of the few boyfriends who will actually refuse. But with Ahiru, he laments, anything is possible and nothing can be out of the ordinary.

He refuses to look at her, despite the fact that she's now shaking his shoulders around in frustration while whining. It's not like it's something _easy_ for him to admit, but for someone as terrible at ballet as she is, Ahiru certainly has her fair share of stamina. He can't even remember how long ago they had started, and there she is asking for more yet again.

"I'm tired, moron. Go to bed."

It's not a graceful excuse, but he grunts it out anyway, shaking her hands off his shoulders.

Ahiru only continues whining and he can practically _hear_ the pout in her voice. "But…! I wanted to beat our old record!"

…What.

Fakir finally turns around to stare at her incredulously. He's never thought of it as some sort of score to keep up with, so her sudden enthusiastic words take him by a surprise that leaves him blinking. His brows furrow. "…Why on earth would you even—"

"Come on! We only have three more to go before we beat the last record. Let's—hey!" She tries to crawl over him, but he jerks back to push her off, interrupting her excitement. Her lips purse out, and on a last second decision she retaliates by reaching down to grab at his overworked length.

The reaction is instantaneous as he jerks back violently before taking her wrist in the grasp of his hand. Damn it, after everything they had already done, he's…well, sensitive. He needs a goddamn break.

Something that Ahiru's not ready to give him as she fights back, grunting annoyingly and pushing back against him with everything she has. She really wants to keep going and see how many times they do it. But Fakir needs to stop being a butt about it first.

Which, unfortunately, he doesn't.

Wanting nothing more than to bask in whatever afterglow he _hadn't_ lost yet and sleep until the morning sun burns his eyes, his hands dive to clutch at her sides—and in the next moment, he has her abruptly flipped over on the bed.

"Waugh—!"

Her face meets the bed sheets in a bounce as her arms splay out around her, her back meeting the cold air. She takes a second to wrap her mind around the sudden change of position, but she recovers quickly. However, the instant she tries pushing herself back up, Fakir's there, pinning her front down into the bed while his knees hold down her thighs, hands gripping her bare shoulders.

"…Jerk," she muffles against the pillow.

"Idiot," he replies with a twitch in his brow. And once she starts wriggling about, he reaches down, fingers skating down her spine until they trace the curve of her backside. The second he feels her giving an involuntary shiver from his motions, he abruptly takes two fingers and—

"QUAAAAH—!"

Ahiru practically spasms, arms flailing about and legs kicking aimlessly behind in the air. She tries turning her head to the side and gives him a huffy and flushed expression, biting her lip from the sudden invasion of lukewarm digits between her legs. Her fingers clutch into the bed sheets, eyes wincing at the feeling of him.

Fakir says nothing, an eyebrow rising.

"…Y-you cheater. That's now what I—_QUA_!" And she buries her face into the pillows again to stifle her shrieks as he interrupts her with the slide of his hand. Defeated, she whines, squirming and arching her back.

But Fakir doesn't care if this wasn't what Ahiru had in mind. If she wants to keep going, well, she can keep going by herself. But he's done.

Ahiru gives a noise in protest as he strokes her, legs widening to feel more on instinct before stubbornly locking in, refusing to surrender. He moves his hand with her, pressing and sliding and massaging and aiming to feel in those places that they both know is just _right_.

Her voice is indignant and her body jerks, but he presses on and plays with the spot he knows she likes. Eventually the sounds turn into muffled moans and her hips buck to the sinful pleasure of his fingertips. He feels how slick she's becoming, and he utilizes it to the best of his ability. At least she's stopped struggling, and hopefully she'll leave him in peace after this.

It's on that determined thought when he increases his ministrations, squeezing her shoulder and caressing her skin with his thumb as works her.

"F-Fakir—Fakir waitwaitwait I'm gonna—!" But he doesn't give her the chance to speak, and before she knows it her eyes are filled with stars and her voice breaks on saturated need.

She launches herself miles into the sky, the beautiful sound choked in cotton sheets, and he lets her flutter back down with the gentle guide of his hand. When she notices how violently her back is arched, Ahiru flops back down to the bed on a groan, her shoulder and thighs sore from his weight.

He slows down his stroking until he's merely holding her, fingers slickened and warm. Leaning down, he breathes over her head.

"Are you done, now?"

For a few moments Ahiru doesn't respond. He stares at the back of her braid, refusing to ease up until she answers. As if giving it some serious thought, the girl shifts underneath him, and then finally concedes defeat with a whine in her lungs.

"…Yeah."

Fakir allows a smile to pass through, unseen from her position. "Good." And finally he relents his grip, shifting off her legs and releasing her shoulder to drop himself crudely in the sheets beside her, feeling the dampness dripping over his palm. He closes his eyes, releasing a sigh through his nose. Hopefully this will satisfy her, at least for the rest of the night. He's rather exhausted at that point after everything else they had done.

He feels the springs of the mattress creak, and Ahiru turns herself over to glance at him through her bangs. While not panting desperately as she was mere minutes ago, her breathing's still prominent in the quiet room.

"…Jerk. We were…s'posed to do more _together_."

Fakir furrows his brow. "Then I'll just keep doing like before instead." If she's so goddamn intent on having a marathon of orgasms, fine. But he wasn't about to participate.

But in place of shooting back angrily, Ahiru closes her eyes and softly shakes her head. "…Mmn. Nah. Too tired, now…." And in a moment of acceptance, she scoots in closer to Fakir, fitting her small form against his comfortably. "…Next time, okay?"

Fakir scoffs, looping an arm around her back and tugging her in. He doesn't answer, hoping that she'll just drift off to sleep and leave him to do the same.

…Besides, though he may have already been exhausted that night, he knows that next time, _Ahiru_ will be the one having a hard time keeping up with him.

**End**


	5. With a Watchful Glow

**notes: **...i can't even title this, you guys. also, i'm not sure if the lamp would stay sentient after the story ends, but either way i think that ahiru would still want to shower it with love and affection.  
><strong>i own nothing.<strong>

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><p>Maybe the homework was just too boring. Maybe it was the fact that they hadn't spent time alone together in the last few weeks. Or maybe it was just the fact that she was so damn irresistible to him.<p>

Either way, Ahiru's _Studies of the Modern Russian Ballet_ textbook went completely forgotten on her desk as Fakir climbed after her up in the loft. The redhead gave a shy giggle, face flushing with a deep color just before he all but attacked her in a hungry claim.

Fakir more than knew it was inappropriate behavior to act on while in her dorm room, of all places. But the double slaughter of _both_ of them having their own recitals to practice for, as well as him having his graduating thesis to work on while Ahiru did everything she could to pass her yearly exams—it all left a gaping maw of need that only grew and festered each day. Quite obviously for the both of them.

So when Ahiru sheepishly asked for help on studying for her history of ballet class that afternoon, it really was no surprise that the tutoring session in her room would escalate to…well.

Ahiru couldn't even try to deny that she would rather engage in this than continue flipping through her practice tests. No, her small hands were nothing short of eager as they roamed his back, wrinkling the blue fabric of his jacket while feeling the way he shifted under her fingers. The teen already had her trapped underneath him, and pushing him away was the _last_ thing on her mind.

She tasted nothing less than sweet, and the moment was bliss. Having to hold back and tend to more important matters all these weeks only seemed to intensify the heat once they finally let the self-control dissipate. The point was only made all the more evident as Fakir groaned, the sound muffled in the heavy lock against her lips. She made a quiet noise in return, legs wriggling and kicking at the sheets beneath their feet. The heat was a collaboration, swirling and churning to tighten in their guts with every kiss, every moan, every grind. He burned and swelled, and from one moment to another her name was expelling breathlessly from his lips.

Fakir watched as she arched her neck and took the invitation with gratitude, pulling the skin and nipping with his teeth while his hands trailed lower. The bell of her uniform skirt had almost completely flattened by then, crushed and wrinkled under the weight of his hips, and yet it still wasn't enough to remind him the lewdness of the situation. No, he could only tuck against the gray material and shamelessly explore the warmth of her abdomen, grunting at the sharp squeak made right against his ear.

"Fakir…."

He took the name as a plead, willing to serve. And as his hand made to cup over that soft center point of heat, his determination was only solidified. She was already wet in the mere minutes they've been working at each other, and Fakir was more than ready to revel in the foreplay.

With a parting kiss, he lifted her skirts up more to bunch just below her chest, and began to inch downward. And maybe it was the depravation, or perhaps just the fact that he loved her so damn much, but the feeling of her spine arching with his fingertips on a strangled whine was a cherished sound—and the intensity of which it went straight to his groin was almost embarrassing, if he wasn't in such a hurry.

"…Fakir."

More of his name. He could never get enough of her saying his name, whether in a moan or a gasp or hell, even a scream. So it only drove him forward, and in the next moment he had lowered himself between her legs, placing kisses along the inside of her knees. Almost absentmindedly, his hardened length that begged for friction slowly ground against the lower end of the loft bed, hips gyrating as he glanced up to the redhead with hooded green eyes.

Her own were just as dark as she peered back down at him, pink lips slightly parted and taking short pants—but the moment he suddenly hooked his thumbs over her panties to tug them down, already feeling his breath hitting against the small curls, those eyes suddenly widened to the size of saucers. And it was as if she flew into a complete panic, kicking her feet out to the side and then practically screeching out into the room.

"FAKIR, STOP!"

The teen recoiled back from her flailing limbs before he could even think, and his expression grew from one of arousal to absolute confusion. Stopping was quite possibly the _last_ thing he had expected her to want out of him. So he swiftly sat back up, heart pounding and face flushed in a deep red, eyebrows creased together as he dodged more of her frantic kicks. "What the _hell_—? Ahiru!"

He watched, flabbergasted, as she scrambled around to cover herself with the bed sheets. And with her face practically glowing, still panting lightly, Ahiru glanced back up at him with a small pout to her lips. She looked almost ashamed of herself and Fakir couldn't imagine why.

"I'm sorry—but—we _can't!_ Not…not in here!"

"And why the hell not?" Fakir replied gruffly back, the frustration more than evident in his voice as he crossed his arms. Normally he would have been embarrassed by the obvious sight of his arousal tenting the white uniform pants as he sat before her, but in that moment he couldn't bring himself to care. The fact that everything seemed to be going so _well_ for them—and then to have it just abruptly end like that—was almost a torture. Especially when the reason was so completely _lost_ on him.

Ahiru squirmed in her seat, dropping her gaze and pressing her two index fingers together. Her eyes slightly looked over to the window, and through her increasing pout she finally tried to explain herself.

"Well…I don't…want her to see."

—And at the very notion that someone may very well have been _watching them_, Fakir snapped to attention and furiously whipped his head around, scanning around the room in an almost panicked manner. His eyes were scrutinizing and tried to pick up on any sense of movement, or even the fact that someone may have just been sitting there _the whole time_ and he was too goddamn turned on to even notice at all.

…But when he couldn't see even a hint of another presence, Fakir scowled and turned back to her. "…You don't want _whom_ to see."

Ahiru met his glower with a strangely adorable glare of her own. "Her!" And to clarify, she untucked a hand from the sheets and reached out to point across the room, toward the window.

Fakir followed her direction intently—was someone watching from the goddamned _window_?—but he saw nothing more than a potted plant and a lamp, both sitting silently at the sill. No one spying on them through the window—rightfully so, seeing as how the room was nowhere near the first floor.

…His face was flat as he once again took his eyes back to her, unamused. "There's no one there, idiot. Come on, let's just—"

But as he reached out to try to take her hand back in his again, Ahiru reacted strongly with yet another stubborn kick. He wasn't sure if the redness of her face was even from arousal or her growing anger anymore.

"No, you jerk! I mean _her_!" And before Fakir could even snap back to ask just who the hell 'she' was, Ahiru had already hopped down from the loft, keeping the sheets wrapped tightly around her shoulders to step over to the window. Despite his irritation, Fakir watched carefully just so he could finally get some answers.

Ahiru ended up at the sill before picking up the small glowing lamp, soft and fragile in her fingers, and looked back at Fakir expectantly.

He could only blink slowly.

"…You are not serious."

Ahiru huffed. "Of course I am! That's why…not in here, okay?"

"That's a lamp."

"She's my friend!"

"That's a _lamp_."

"She's also—you haven't _seen_ her before!"

"I see you holding a goddamned lamp and telling me you don't want it watching us."

Completely frustrated with his lack of understanding, Ahiru sat down at the window sill while giving an exasperated sigh, holding the small lantern almost protectively. "Well, you just…it's a 'she,' not an 'it,' so stop being a jerk!"

Fakir had a difficult time sympathizing with her seeing as how she was interrupting their first intimacies in over several weeks for the sake of an inanimate object in their presence. So instead he only growled, holding up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He tried very hard to ignore the fact that she had started _speaking_ to the damned thing, apologizing for anything 'she' may have not wanted to see and asking if it had a good day, god help him.

He loved her dearly, but sometimes Ahiru really needed to just remind him that he was not, in fact, dealing with a small _child_, instead of a young woman.

**End**


	6. On the Clock Tower

**notes:** check this one off the list of places for them to soil.  
><strong>i own nothing.<strong>

**2014 notes: **once again unfortunate implications, and also this one is just so bad i can't believe i wrote this, ugh ugh ugh. i actually would like to delete it, but i've experienced other writers deleting their work and know how upsetting that is enough to let it stay.

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><p>"AHHN!"<p>

It was normal for such a vocal cry to emit from Ahiru's throat in the years after she and Fakir confessed their love for one another. It was also very normal for said screams to be heard by outsiders, considering that she was exceptionally loud in bed. It was normal for anyone who should have been passing by the walls of their cottage to lower their heads and move on, preferring not to stick around and hear the lady screech out as her lover did things that one could only imagine as they were performed behind closed doors.

Unfortunately, the current instance was not exactly _normal_.

And it was made all the more obvious with the way Ahiru's fists determinedly clung to the railing, her chest pressed up to the bar and mouth agape as more noises pealed out unfiltered. Her eyes darted back and forth over the scenery that surrounded them, her expression a mixture of absolute ecstasy and complete anxiety.

Below her: the entirety of Goldkrone.

Behind her: Fakir. As well as the gigantic bell of the tower, the building of which they had decided to climb up in a small innocent exploration just a few hours ago.

Ahiru honestly didn't know how it escalated so drastically. She remembered traversing up the endless flights of stairs, making excited comments and Fakir casually observing the interior, both of them remembering that day many seasons ago when he carried her up there with Siegfried and Rue following behind, and then both of them stopping to gaze out of the beautiful landscape. The buildings looked small, and the people were almost doll-like as they carried about their business down below.

Then there was a blurred line. From one moment to the next, Ahiru had been enjoying the view, and then suddenly Fakir began talking, and then they were kissing, and touching, and….

And before she knew it, the young man had her skirts pushed up and his pants pulled down and he was ramming into her from behind like his life depended on it.

It was all Ahiru could do not to scream with everything she had. Which, in all honesty, she rather failed to do, as her face only grew _redder_ from the exertion and embarrassment.

"H-Hold o—I mean—AHN!—Fa-Fakir _whatifsomeoneseesus_?" she managed to screech out the last bit in a single breath, her head arching back as he made a thrust in at _just the right spot_ that always had her body trembling.

Fakir, however, wasn't worried about such notions. It was the middle of a weekday, and most citizens were either in classes or at their jobs. While the town below them was small and beautiful, there were little to no people wandering the streets.

And even if there were any, it wasn't as if they would be able to pick up on the redhead's screams from all the way up there. No, the wind carried off her voice almost effortlessly, converting the sound into nothing more than a mere whisper to any bystander several hundred feet below.

So he didn't answer her for the moment, instead choosing to tighten his grip on her hips and all but lift her up against the railing as he increased his pace. Public sex was never something the man ever thought he would indulge in, but_damn_ did she look enticing while being taken out in the open like that. She was being ravished, while at the same time trying to decide if she wanted to drown herself in the feeling or hold it all in.

He so did love always making things hard on her.

Ahiru whimpered, eyes slammed shut and biting against her lip to prevent any more noises from coming out. But her efforts went in vain the moment she felt a grip tug at her hair, and suddenly her head was jerked back on a squawk, her eyes opening in shock.

"_Watch_."

Watch? Watch _what_? And he didn't even answer her question, either!

Not that it mattered in the end, however, because before she could even get a word in edgewise she could feel him already spilling out that tension, body stiffening up as she felt the familiar pulse.

He leaned forward and moaned in her ear, and the sound almost made Ahiru completely forget that she had yet to release as well. Not to mention the fact that he was the one who had to have the bright idea to take her like this in such an embarrassing location in the first place, or the fact that he didn't care if she just screamed until her throat was raw, or that the bell might ring in just a minute and make her jump and fall straight off the tower—

But when she felt his arm wrap strongly around her middle and his other hand dive straight to that area between her legs with determination, Ahiru figured she could forgive him for the time being.

**End**


	7. With a Cherished Dress

**i own nothing.**

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><p><strong>Garter<strong>

She couldn't help but giggle when the large figure buried under the layers of her dress moved, inching on up and letting his breath tickle her legs. A single large hand held her down and steady to stop her from squirming, although she could tell that when he kissed her thighs it was only to try and evoke it.

If anyone were to step in they would see a giddy bride, lips panting and flushed to the neck for no particular reason. It was what was happening _under_ the great expanse of white fabric that made all the difference.

And Ahiru wanted him to keep going and move on, but Fakir wasn't quite done with the playful teasing. It was only after several minutes, when gooseflesh already ran rampant down to the tips of her toes, that she felt the graze of his teeth and the subsequent tug on the lacy material.

She felt the itch of it as he dragged it down her leg, his lips brushing against her skin every other second with the bonus of a warm breath. His hand cupped the ball of her foot with delicate care, almost like a prince putting on a princess's shoe—even though they were far from being either. After giving some attentions and kisses to her ankle, the bell of her dress shifted around, the cloth making soft noises. And in the next moment Fakir had removed himself from underneath, his gaze dark and promising with the garter belt clenched between his teeth.

Ahiru found herself giggling again, despite the deep breaths she had to take. The sound then merged into a small squeal when he suddenly dropped the lace from his mouth and suddenly shot up to all but attack her neck, of which she eagerly leaned back to accept his enthusiasm. "It's kinda…funny. You weren't…nearly this confident…back then," she said in between soft intakes of breath.

"Give me a break," Fakir responded lowly, making his way lower and kissing what showed of her skin over the white hemming. "I was nervous."

At that, she just had to grin. And then, she quietly admitted, "Hmm…I was, too."

He made a humming noise, and Ahiru fluttered her eyes open to gaze over the intricate stitching and weavings of the dress. "Y'know…I still can't believe that I can still _fit_ in this…it's been _years_."

That was met with something that sounded like a chuckle. And Ahiru pursed her brows forward when he paused in his ministrations to shift back up and smile at her. "I'm not surprised. You've always been a little shrimp. I don't think you've grown an inch since the day we've met."

Ahiru let the comment sink in for a moment, before she scowled and protested, "…Yes, I have!"

Fakir leaned back, looking her up and down. "Nope. I don't see it."

For that, she reached down to swipe the forgotten garter belt in her hands. And the small argument was put to rest after she stretched it out and shot it right into his face with a pout.

**End**


	8. On Exploration

It didn't take long after they started becoming sexually active before Fakir realized that Ahiru had a specific habit in bed.

…A bad habit.

It was easy to deal with when she was all but latched to his neck, legs wrapped around his waist and their movements jerking the bed around and causing the springs to creak incessantly. He rather liked it when she pulled his bottom lip between her teeth and nipped. It didn't even bother him that he would wake up the morning after and find her markings almost littering his skin.

Yet when she first expressed an interest in trying something new, Fakir was too busy trying to will away the inflammation in his face and stammering about to even think about it. Ultimately though, after a bit of discussion, he agreed to let her to do as she pleased.

So it was after that awkward conversation when he found himself sitting upright and threading his fingers through red hair as she bent down before him. Her blue eyes were curious, also they also revealed a little bit of nervousness. Her cheeks reddened when she traced her fingers along the length of him, and—energized by a sudden burst of enthusiasm—squeezed her eyes shut and took him in her mouth.

"Ahi_OOOW_!" Fakir yowled and flung himself away from her with flailing arms.

Ahiru also jerked away and stared at him in horror. Her hands went to her cheeks as she sputtered about, in an absolute panic. "Fakir? What?! What'd I do?! DidInotdoitrightandIcomplete lymessedupand—What'd I do?!"

Fakir was too busy rolling on his side and pressing a pillow over his crotch as he curled into a ball to answer her. And in that moment, he decided that they really needed to work on her biting habit.


	9. With a Strap-On

**notes:** just about the least explicit pegging fic you will ever read

**2014 notes: **nothing too bad here, but ahiru does ask fakir to try something new over and over again.

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><p><strong>What What in Fakir's Butt<strong>

Fakir believed the first thing to come out of his mouth upon seeing Ahiru presenting the strap-on were the words "hell no."

Her hands lowered the toy down to the table, and she was quick to throw him a pout.

But that was just how it was, at first.

He really wasn't sure where she got the idea, anyway. Or what kind of store in Gold Crown even _sold_ those types of things. One that he never ventured to, that was for sure. Even after they started becoming sexually active, Fakir couldn't say he was too interested in exploring toys or other devices. Just Ahiru as Ahiru was enough to more than satisfy him.

Ahiru was persistent, however. She told him about all the things she read, how she didn't _know_ there was a way to go inside a guy, that he always goes inside her so why can't she do the same and others say it feels really good and she just wants to make him feel good and _why_ does he have to be such a butt about trying things out?!

It took several days. Plenty enough time for her pestering to drive him up the wall.

"Fine," he finally barked, "_fine_. Just once. And you'll see it's nothing to get so damn excited over."

He strategically ignored Ahiru's devious grin.

And that was what led them to their current position. On one side of the bed sat Fakir in his boxers, arms crossed over his chest as he tried not to blush as he watched Ahiru fumbling with her task.

"I still don't see any reason this should be _enjoyable_," he grumbled. Yes, he found he liked sex where he was inside of Ahiru. He felt connected on a level more than just physical. And that was how things were _supposed_ to be arranged. So who in all hells thought it would be a bright idea to just stick something up—up _there_? _That wasn't how things worked_.

And seeing the accursed object as Ahiru arranged it into place only made him cringe.

It didn't help when she turned to face him and beamed, reaching down to wrap her hand around the toy. Then she waved it around, back and forth.

Fakir was mortified.

"What the hell are you—quit playing with it, idiot!" He pinched his nose eyes and groaned, blushing wildly.

"Nu-uh, I actually kinda like it!" Ahiru giggled. Her fingers wrapped around the base of it and gave it a wiggle. "How do you fit these things in your practice tights, anyhow?"

This was going to be a disaster.

It was then time for preparation. After removing the last scrap of clothing, Fakir leaned back against the bed of pillows and watched Ahiru crawl up to him. She seemed a little more hesitant than before—or at least quieter.

"What's wrong," Fakir flatly asked as he reached out for the lube on the nightstand.

Ahiru bit her lip. "Well, just… I've never done anything like this before."

"Isn't that the point?" It wasn't like _he'd_ done it, either.

"Yeah, but…" Pursing her lips, Ahiru pressed her index fingers together. "You keep saying you won't like it, but I really _want_ you to like it, you know? You're always doing so much for me with this sort of thing, so…"

Fakir sighed through his nose, reaching out a hand to ruffle the top of her head. "Idiot. I said we'll try it, so we'll try it." After all, he'd already had so many incidents of stepping out of his comfort zone in his relationship with Ahiru. What was a few more steps?

Looking up at him through her bangs, Ahiru smiled sweetly.

He did the preparations himself. Even though Ahiru was the one who thought of the idea in the first place, Fakir condemned himself to research after finally giving in to her request. He knew what needed to be done, what went where. So he opened the tube and tended to the necessary area, giving her an almost comical cringing face as she curiously observed. It was not a place he ever thought he'd be sticking his fingers, and several times he would pause and reflect on just putting a stop to everything right then and there. But Ahiru continued talking to him as he readied himself, her hands rubbing his thighs and her sweet voice coaxing. Eventually he brushed against a small something that abruptly made him shiver. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Of course Ahiru had to ruin that small ounce of reconsideration by reminding him she was Ahiru.

The first positioning was clumsy. Having never been 'on top' in such a way, it took a moment for Ahiru to figure out that she should just sit before Fakir and let his legs spread. She was so used to it being the opposite. And seeing him below her, looking up at her with eyes that hid a small ounce of uncertainty—was this how she looked at him before their first time? She blushed a little. It wasn't the first time she ever witnessed Fakir in a vulnerable state, but this was on a level of its own. She vowed to treasure it.

Then came the moment of truth. After taking the 'head' between her fingers, Ahiru positioned to where it needed to go. Fakir had his eyes closed, almost like he was concentrating hard on something. She barely shifted her hips forward before he stiffened up and gave a pained grunt.

"Fakir!" Ahiru leaned over him, looking worried and not daring to move any further. Oh no, she didn't want it to hurt him! That defeated the purpose of it feeling good! Though she supposed he must have felt the same when it was _her_first time… "You gotta—you gotta relax!"

Fakir's brow twitched. "_You_ try dealing with having something shoved up your—ngh!" Ahiru had fumbled a little and ended up giving a small jerk by accident. Fakir reached out and grasped her shoulder, his face contorting. "Not—so_hard_—moron," he enunciated through clenched teeth.

Ahiru bit her lip again. This looked like it hurt far more than it would feel good. Maybe it was _supposed_ to, but then again she was probably doing this all wrong. That would be like her, wouldn't it? To mess up. Fakir was probably mad at her that she talked him into doing this.

He didn't say anything, though. He merely held her still by the shoulder, putting in all the effort he could to relax. So he hadn't given up completely, yet.

Trying to remember what all Fakir did for her during her first time, Ahiru leaned down to nuzzle and pepper soft kisses on his face. His skin was warm, a bit sweaty. Sort of like her own, back then. Maybe this could work.

Gradually, she _could_ tell he was relaxing. His muscles felt less tense, his breathing grew lighter. Reaching down, Ahiru took his flaccid cock and began stroking, having at least the confidence to do that to arouse him. As he hardened, she watched him carefully, still trying hard to stay perfectly still. It was a bit difficult not to shift around though, as her legs began to ache. But soon enough he let out a warm sigh that brushed her bangs and his grip on her shoulder lessened considerably.

"… You can move," he murmured. But when Ahiru tried pushing in even further he stiffened up all over again with a wince. Swallowing down the temptation to bark at her and call her a moron again, Fakir instead went with grabbing a hold of her hips and slowly guided her from there. With his reference, Ahiru allowed him to maneuver the sway of her hips, gradually pushing in further and further. It was a slow process that demanded much patience, but they were getting there.

And even though he was helping guide her, a small part of Ahiru felt empowered. This was something only she could do to Fakir. And it was all worth it to see the smallest changes in his facial expression, the hitches in his breath. He was accepting it, letting her fill him instead of reflexively treating it as an intruder. She gasped when he suddenly jerked up, a strangled noise catching in his throat. Her chest fluttered—was that the part people said felt great to guys? If she managed to find it, then this would definitely all be worth it.

Fakir couldn't tell what was with him, on the other hand. He expected it to be uncomfortable, of course, but he sure as hell didn't expect that shock of _something_ to run up and down his body and urge a low groan out of him. Holding fast to her hips, he started moving faster. The small, tight jerks turned into slow, long thrusts, his own hips soon shifting up to meet hers. He couldn't put a name to it, but maybe it didn't matter. His head leaned back to the pillows and his teeth clenched, albeit for a different reason than pain.

And then Ahiru abruptly slowed down.

That was enough to bring him out of the temporary stupor. Blinking unfocused eyes, he furrowed his brow. "What are you—" Why was she _stopping_?

Ahiru's limbs shook and she dropped her head down. Her voice came out in a small whine. "'M _tired_…"

Fakir couldn't form a proper response to that. It must have been because she had never been on top like this, needing to thrust her hips out. Of course it would leave a small woman like her exhausted after several minutes. She certainly did want to ask how guys managed to keep this stuff up for hours at a time, but she swallowed it down. Fakir just had more practice than her, that was all.

His grip on her hips became more insistent. Through the wild blush on his face, Fakir hissed and forced the words out. "Don't—stop." And he accentuated the demand with a jerk, pulling her hips back to his.

Through the long hair sticking to his forehead, Ahiru could see something… different change in Fakir's eyes. That single moment, that transition from being in pain to adjusting and wanting more… her heart felt like it could burst from that look. He must have felt the same, that time when it was him looking down at her.

Letting him take his own pace, Ahiru allowed him to maneuver her hips once again as he saw fit, no longer filled with the energy to keep going of her own accord. The bed underneath creaked, their sweaty skin slipped against each other, and their rushed panting set the background noise. Again, she took his erection and pulled, twisting her wrist in a way she knew he liked.

That seemed to do the trick.

On a noise neither of them even knew could ever come out of Fakir's mouth, he arched back and found that release, clenching and spilling over his abdomen. The strength in which he gripped at Ahiru almost hurt, but she was far too taken with his image to notice or care. Towering over his convulsing form, knowing that she was the one to do this and he allowed her to—it was fulfilling in a way she couldn't describe. She smiled softly and watched him ride out his orgasm from start to finish. Whether it was him inside her, or her inside him, or even neither, she never grew tired of the way his face contorted in those moments.

When it was all over Ahiru carefully pulled the toy out, leaving Fakir to sigh heavily. She scooted back to remove the full strap-on from her body, dropping it off at the end of the bed so she could crawl back and return to Fakir's side. There was a giddy smile on her face as she snuggled up next to him, looking as though she was the one who just came instead of Fakir.

And as the seconds ticked by, it all finally dawned on him what just happened. That he wasn't fond of it at first and then… well.

"You liked it," Ahiru said, beaming ear to ear. "See, I thought you'd like it! Aren't you glad you decided to at least try?"

Fakir's face flushed to a beet red, and he closed his eyes. "… Hn."

"… I liked it," she admitted quietly. "I felt like I could really do something for you, you know? I could make you feel good."

Those words caused his brow to purse as he glanced at her. Reaching up, he ruffled her bangs once again. "The hell are you talking about? You've always—" He swallowed. "You always have."

"… Mm." Smiling sweetly, she nuzzled into his arm.

As he wrapped around her in a hold, Fakir reflected that he still felt pretty embarrassed by what just transpired. He never willingly subjected himself to someone else like that, never leaned back to _take_ something. It left him feeling open and vulnerable.

… But, he supposed, Ahiru had already seen almost everything else that Fakir was ashamed of. And if there was one person he could trust with that position, it would always be her.

That was something that never changed.

**End**


	10. In the Bathtub

**In the Bathtub**

"Ahhhh," Ahiru sighed as she sank deep into the warm bubble bath up to her chin, her eyelids heavy from contentment. Whether her form was of a human or duck, she loved being submerged in water. With a lazy smile, she lifted up one foot to peek above the bubbles, splashing lightly. Thanks to her friends earlier that day, there were scented candles gently illuminating the dimmed bathroom—a suggestion from Pique, who enjoyed fresh cotton scents in particular. After taking the candles and bubble bath bottle home, Ahiru quickly discovered they had reason to favor them. It was something she had never experienced as a girl or a duck, to be treated to such an exquisite method of bathing.

Then the door at the other side of the room creaked open, and Ahiru turned to see Fakir standing below the frame with his eyebrows raised.

Ahiru blinked, and then those blue eyes flitted over the expanse of the bathroom, catching the changes she had made. "Ah… did I do something wrong?"

Fakir stood still for a moment, before shaking his head and stepped toward the sink. "… No. I just wasn't expecting that."

In response, Ahiru gave a giggle, her cheeks warm. By this point in their relationship they were comfortable with seeing each other in the bath or shower, and each took turns brushing teeth and other such daily routines every day. Gone was the boy who threw clothes at her face in a scandalized outrage when she appeared naked before his eyes. "What do you think?"

"I can barely breathe," he answered honestly as he turned the faucet on and drenched a washcloth in ice cold water, bringing it to wipe his face and neck. It was clear judging by his light clothing and sweat stains that Fakir had just returned from a rigorous session of practice.

"That's 'cause your stink is in here mucking it up," Ahiru chirped with a grin, giving a small splash over the suds. Then, she had an idea, one that left her quiet for a few moments as she watched his back bent over the sink, her thoughts deep in consideration.

When Fakir gave a small pained groan at a stiff muscle in his neck, Ahiru reached a conclusion, and scooted to one side of the bathtub to make room. When he turned around, she smiled sheepishly.

"Um… why don't you come in? I bet the hot water will feel really good! And you've been working really hard lately, so…"

To her shock—and pleasant surprise—her proposal was interrupted with the sound of rustling cloth and Fakir already stepping a leg into the bubbled water. In less than a minute he had fully removed himself of clothing and slowly began to sink in the clean white porcelain tub, sitting across from her. His eyes closed, cringing as he got used to the higher than normal temperature.

Ahiru gave him a sympathetic smile. "Was it that bad today?" It had to be, for him to so eagerly jump on an opportunity like a suffocating-scented bath without any comment.

Fakir gave a grunt in response, sighing afterwards. Ahiru raised her hands to his shoulders and began to knead, which clearly pleased Fakir immediately as he opened his eyes. "Private practice was fine. It's those damn brats that are giving me a migraine," he commented, referring to the small class of preadolescents taking a summer beginner ballet course the Academy started to offer some years back. "They don't practice on their own and it's painfully obvious, then they go whining when they pull their unworked muscles."

Rubbing her thumbs in circles over his clavicles, Ahiru hummed. "Don't you teach them how they can prevent that from happening too much?"

"Of course I do," he scoffed. "They just don't listen to a damn thing I say. They're at that age where they like to believe they know best, when there's absolutely no reason to."

Ahiru couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're starting to sound like an old man when you say things like that!"At his scowl, Ahiru could only laugh more. And then she gathered up a pile of suds to her chest and lifted them up, smearing it all across Fakir's face. "See, you're an old man now!"

"Hey—" Fakir jerked back, but it was too late, for he now sported a great white bubbly beard. He gave her a deadpan look as she howled with quack-like laughter, unable to control her giggles at such a silly image.

"So you think me an old man, huh," he said, reaching up to wipe off what he could of the bubbles. When she finally began to calm down, Fakir raised an eyebrow.

"Mmhmm, a really, really grouchy old man." She leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

"I never pinged you as the type of person into old men," Fakir commented, going along with their little teasing game. "Can't help but wonder what everyone would think of it."

Going back to kneading his muscles, Ahiru declared proudly: "I wouldn't care what anyone else thinks! They can mind their own business."

"Hmm," Fakir hummed, half listening and half relaxing into her touch. "No. I still think something needs to be fixed to make the picture complete."

When Ahiru blinked and looked at him quizzically, Fakir only offered her the smallest flash of a smirk at the corner of his lips before he reached out and shoved a handful of bubbles at the top of her head. Ahiru flailed, falling back to the other side of the tub and causing the soapy water to swash about. "Waugh!"

"There. An old woman to compliment the old man. No one would think anything suspicious of that."

"Heeeeey." Despite the pout she threw at him, her eyes were beaming. Shifting, she moved across the tub to sit closer to him, almost in his lap. She rest her head against his shoulder, letting the suds slide down the back of her neck as he wrapped his arms about her body and they took a moment to relax from the fun, sighing.

Ahiru was silent about it, but… a part of her did wonder if they would be able to grow old together. Somehow the image wouldn't leave her mind.

"You know, I bet you'll still be really handsome, even when your hair gets all grey and you get a beard." She smiled into his skin.

"I am never growing a beard," Fakir grunted, idly sliding one hand up and down the expanse of her naked back.

"Why not?"

"Too bothersome."

"But you've never had one before, so how would you know?"

"Does having a bunch of hair over your lower face look comfortable to_you_?"

Ahiru wriggled in her spot, sitting fully on his lap with her legs spread and crouching as she straddled him. "But it could be so much fun!"

That earned a look from Fakir, and his hands paused in their trek. "… Fun how, exactly."

"Like…" After taking a moment of consideration, Ahiru leaned in to softly press her lips to his, allowing her lower lip to brush against his ever so lightly. Her eyes had been closed, but flew open upon meeting an unexpected sensation. Pulling back, her hands rest themselves on his shoulders and Ahiru couldn't help but exclaim, "Wait a minute, you're already growing a beard!"

Fakir frowned, but she could see the redness creeping up at his cheeks. He almost sounded petulant as he corrected her. "Idiot. I've just been too busy and haven't had time to shave in a couple of days. There's a difference between a full grown beard and just a little stubble."

Reverently, Ahiru reached up to stroke his cheek, the rough texture greeting her fingertips. It was barely noticeable by sight, but boy could she ever _feel_ it. In a way, it was similar to when a woman went a day or two without shaving her legs—no one would notice except whoever touched the skin.

"Hmm." She continued to stroke his face in curiosity, pleased that Fakir allowed her to do so at the very least. "I kinda like it…"

"Do you," he murmured quietly, his expression soft as he gazed at her. The way even the smallest things like this could make her day never failed to amaze Fakir. Soon, he returned to stroking up and down her back, the water lightly waving back and forth in the tub.

"Yeah," she whispered, and leaned in to kiss him again. This time she kissed slowly and fully, taking her time to feel his lips as she brushed the back of her fingers to his cheek affectionately.

Fakir's eyes fell shut, enjoying the attentions as he worked his hands up to her shoulderblades. He gave a light lick, a small flicker before receeding back, and it was met with a lazy nip to his lower lip. She tugged lightly and then pulled back, proceeding to shower his face with wet kisses.

"Feels rough and soft at the same time," she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. He settled his grip about her waist in return, and sighed when she returned to kissing him and nuzzled against his skin.

"You really like it that much, huh," he whispered.

"It's different… but good."

"Hm."

It didn't take long for Fakir to catch on when Ahiru continued to brush her cheeks against his own, and he soon returned the gestures, letting her feel the small prickles dragging across what he felt was far too beautiful skin to marr. Soon he bent his head down to kiss her neck, relishing in the heavenly sigh of "Oh," he was rewarded with.

Unable to mask how aroused she was, Ahiru squeezed her thighs around his middle, her fingers gliding up into his hair at the same time. Without pause he pressed heavy kisses to her neck, juncture, collarbone. Once he had reached as low as he could, Fakir abruptly planted his hands on her ass and tugged, pulling her up to be eye level with her chest. Ahiru squeaked in surprise, but allowed him to support her as he went back and forth between brushing his stubble against her nipples and lathering them with his warm, soft tongue. Always he left her guessing what would come next. He completed his attention with her favorite—nipping sharply at the small peak and pulling, knowing she inexplicably loved the sharp feeling. She cried out, her face fully flushed from cheek to cheek and blemishing her many freckles. Just the sight that never failed to turn him on.

"Had enough?" Fakir inquired, rolling his eyes up to look at her while he continued suckling her breasts.

Smiling blissfully, Ahiru shook her head. "Nu-uh. I wanna feel it all over…"

"All over," he repeated lowly and slightly amused. "That's a real challenge you're presenting."

Before Ahiru could reply, he gripped her rear and jerked her to stand up even further, and soon had her goaded to stand up on her legs before him, water and bubbles running slick down her lithe naked body. Letting her support herself by gripping the back of his head, Fakir circled his tongue around her navel and lowered down her body in teasing, light motions, not once forgetting to utilize the stubble she had a newfound fondness for.

Soon enough he found his target, sliding his tongue between the warm and wet folds of her sex. Ahiru's legs quivered, her thighs flexing as she moaned. Those small tentative licks soon turned into open mouthed kisses as he parted his lips to run his tongue up and down before closing to let his chin scrape the soft flesh. Like going back and forth between velvet and sandpaper, Ahiru thought dimly to herself—not that his stubble was actually painful like sandpaper, but her mind was far too clouded in the heat of the moment to think straight enough for a more accurate analogy. Her head lolled back and she whimpered, her fingers digging tightly into his hair. Fakir groaned in return, pulling her closer from his grip on her ass to all but devour her, proud of the way he made her tremble.

"F-Fakir," she gasped. "I'm gonna—I c-can't stand up—"

"I will not let you fall," Fakir growled lowly, squeezing his fingers into her backside. "I promise."

Ahiru nodded, almost dazed, and lightly she began to move her hips in half circles to grind against his mouth. Her knees were weak, almost completely uable to support herself—but just as Fakir promised, he held her up. Just as he always did, and will forevermore.

When she came she expelled the breath in her lungs with a loud, high pitched cry, her thighs flexing and tightening almost painfully around his head. For just a bare, fleeting moment, her feet did slip—but Fakir held fast to allow her a slow and safe descent, watching as she all but melted against him in her path back down to his lap.

It took her a few minutes of catching her breath before she could safely say she came back down to earth. Resting her head on his shoulder, Ahiru gathered her bearings as she felt a small aftershock trembling her inner muscles every few moments.

"Mmm… ehehe," she giggled. "That was… ah… mm." Without moving her head, she glanced up to him, still smiling. "Wow."

"Does it really make that much of a difference?" Fakir asked quietly, slightly amused.

"Yeah," she affirmed. "Definitely."

There was a few minutes of peaceful quiet where they rest comfortably in each others arms. By then many of the bubbles had died out, leaving the tub most filled with soapy lukewarm water.

Then Fakir shifted, closing his eyes. "I'm still never growing a beard."

This broke Ahiru out into a fit of giggles, shaking her head left and right against his neck in glee. "Okay, okay, doesn't have to be a big ol' beard! But maybe you could do that thing again sometime…?"

"I don't see why not," Fakir condeded in a sigh, pulling her close. She could feel him growing hard between her legs the longer they sat there, the blood pumping in full hearty throbs. She did nothing to discourage it—if anything she only coaxed his arousal, lightly shifting her hips to rub against his length teasingly. Her wicked plan did not escape Fakir, and he glanced down to her with an arched eyebrow.


	11. Something a Little Different

**warnings:** consensual D/s control play, blindfold, restraints, spanking, a small bit of breath play. yeah this one's got some uh, stuff, so please don't read if any of the mentioned warnings isn't your cup of tea. written in response to an old confession on tumblr.

* * *

><p><strong>As Punishment<strong>

Ahiru knows she's in for it when Fakir gets home early and she still hasn't cleaned up the titanic mess in the kitchen that actually managed to spread through the dining room _and_ the sitting room. At the end of the day she's still lacking one birthday dinner for Pique, but there's spread spices and chocolates all over the counters in tiny handprints from the amount of times she slipped on the cream on the floor. She had been planning on cleaning up before he got home, but… well clearly that's not to be today.

His jaw drop and recoil from the sight that greets him tells her that the view is much, much worse than she thought. "What the hell?!"

"Um, hi, Fakir!" She giggles lightly, scratching her cheek—and leaving a spot of jam in its wake. "I was just making some sweets for Pique's birthday for Monday…"

"Were you expecting her to eat off the _ground_?" he fires, maneuvering around to make sure he doesn't step in places that were stained.

"Well… no." Ahiru's shoulders deflate as she sighs. "I was gonna clean up, you know."

Fakir makes a noise in the back of his throat, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt as he drops his coat on a spare chair that was left unafflicted. "Making a mess in the first place wasn't necessary."

"It's not like I made a mess on purpose…" Ahiru mumbles through pursed lips. Crossing her arms, she huffs. "I said I'd clean, so there's no problem!"

"_Problem_?" Fakir grabs a pair of rubber gloves and washcloth, soaking the latter under a stream of sink water. "I see a problem _everywhere_ at the moment. The entire _kitchen_ is having a problem that'll take hours to fix."

"And a little bit in the dining room and living room, too…"

Fakir throws his hands in the air. "What the hell were you doing in there while cooking!?"

Hands balling into fists, Ahiru stands her ground, her face growing red.

"You don't have to talk so loudly! I said I was gonna clean up so I dunno why you're so angry!"

"Are you telling me what to do? If you're going to insist on talking like a child then I may as well _treat_ you like one." Fakir snaps without thinking as he works on scrubbing the counter, and it causes Ahiru to recoil a little as her eyes widen marginally.

It was in a different setting, but he always used language like that when they were… well, doing that. When they were experimenting with doing that. Then doing other things.

… Did he mean to say it like that?

Shifting from foot to foot, Ahiru swallows as she slowly wipes down one of the cabinet doors, falling silent as she watches Fakir cleaning out of the corner of her eye. The thought of Fakir releasing whatever frustrations he had through a way other than cleaning and getting into an argument was much more preferable than this tense air.

So she takes the chance, licking her lips.

"… Green."

"What?" Fakir blinks before glancing back at her, his hand pausing in its work.

_Green means you may proceed._

He knows that from their many discussions, but why would she say that out of nowhere?

Then his own words finally click in his mind, when he spouted off treating her like a child without a single thought. _'Then I will give you a punishment,'_ he had told her one time, the tension almost palpable in the air.

Though it wasn't much of a punishment when she had enjoyed it.

Even so, they both understood the nature of their safe-words. Green was permission to go, permission to own her and hold power over her in ways they did not allow outside of the bedroom. Yellow was lighten up on the intensity. Red meant stop altogether. They had reviewed it so many times Fakir sometimes found himself stilling in his place just hearing the words in other contexts.

When he remains silent, Ahiru slowly repeats herself. "Green."

There's no mistake she's giving him permission, which is odd considering they were in the midst of brewing an argument. And while normally Fakir would express even more confusion and tell her to get back to helping him clean, something else clicked in that he realized just as much as she did that he wasn't in the mood for real fighting. And what better way to release that strain than to pretend instead?

"… Hn."

So he receives her permission, replying back automatically as he stands up straight and begins his instructions.

"Then first, go to our room. Don't clean yourself, don't get anything out. Just sit on the bed."

It feels good to give orders and to know she's going to obey them. It's something he was ashamed of before they both acknowledged it. He's a changed person; he's not _supposed_ to like telling people what to do and issue a punishment if they didn't see it through. That just made him exactly like the boy he used to be when he controlled Mytho.

But Ahiru had understood there was a difference. Inside and outside of the bedroom was the barrier that made things okay when it was just between them. And if Fakir felt shame for the things he found he liked during sex, then she should have felt shame too, because she _liked_ being under him and obeying his every instruction and letting him own her. But to like that also betrayed everything she was, for she actively fought against being controlled back when the town was inside of a story. She would never say she _belonged_ to someone if a person asked her about it on the street. So why was that suddenly different when it came to sex?

Maybe it didn't matter, and maybe they didn't need to fret over it, especially once they confined their secret fantasies to each other one night as they lied awake together in bed. So maybe they liked control play in the bedroom. Maybe they liked things that betrayed their personality in the daytime. As long as they were okay with it and only with each other… what did it matter?

Though to be honest, when Ahiru gave the go ahead to Fakir she hadn't expected him to just tell her to go to the bedroom and sit.

In fact she tilts her head, raising one eyebrow. "Don't you want help cleaning up?"

By this time Fakir's mind is already in the zone of their pretend, playing the role without effort. He leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. "Are you talking back to me?"

It's practically an automatic response as Ahiru submissively bows her head. "… Mm. No." And she places the washcloth in the sink before turning around and leaving the kitchen, making her way up the stairs before Fakir hears the opening and shutting of their bedroom door.

It's not that he doesn't want her help cleaning, to be perfectly honest. In fact, it's probably going to take half an hour longer to do this all by himself. But it's that the thought of Ahiru sitting still for that long because _he_ ordered her to do so turned him on. The tension would be worth it.

So he cleans all he can, and about an hour later Fakir arrives upstairs to their bedroom and is greeted with the sight of Ahiru sitting cross-legged on the sheets of their bed, still smeared in chocolate sauce and jam all over her skin and clothes. Just as he commanded, she sat perfectly still and did nothing, all to please him. His heart purrs in response.

"Still green?" he asks, closing the door behind him.

Ahiru rocks back and forth in her place, a small smile spreading across her face. "Still green," she repeats.

"Then first, I'd like for you to get a few things for me. Don't think you've escaped punishment just yet," he chides, strolling over to the edge of the bed and sitting down. When Ahiru sits up straight in attention, he continues. "Go to the drawer. Take out two of the scarves, and bring them to me." Black silk. Very strong and durable when tied in a knot.

Ahiru does just as she's told, her little feet padding on the carpet as she makes her way over to the other side of the room and draws out the two very special pieces of cloth. When she hands them to him, Fakir idly draws his thumb over the silky texture, mulling over what to do next.

"Close your eyes."

The blue color of her irises disappear immediately as she shuts them quickly, sucking in a small breath when she feels him tying one of the scarves around her head and covering her eyes.

"Can you see anything?"

She blinks underneath the cloth, and then shakes her head. "No."

"Good." He stands from the bed before her and leans down, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Then first, I'll clean you off."

From there he begins issuing small licks here and there over her face, wiping off the chocolate that stained her skin. When she giggles, Fakir arches a brow. "Do you think this is funny?"

"It tickles," she says, biting her lip. Fakir feels his own quipping into a light smirk as he leans down and nips the very lip she's biting, pulling it away to hear her gasp.

"You're being punished. There's nothing to laugh about in this situation," he says in a low playful voice, picking her up and pushing her down to the mattress of the bed with an abruptness that leaves her squeaking in surprise. From there he continues 'cleaning' her, licking down her bare arms and nipping small teeth marks into her skin, flicking his tongue at her neck, kissing her clothed breasts, then taking one of her fingers and sucking on it. Ahiru holds back from giggling, but only barely as the wide grin on her face betrays the noises she manages to swallow down. When he drags his tongue across her palm, she releases a low moaning sound, her fingers twitching slightly.

"Give me a number." Fakir pops her fingers back into his mouth and suckles, playfully licking at her from within the hot and wet cavern.

"U-um," Ahiru stammers as she wracks her mind for an answer, any answer, before abruptly blurting out: "Six!"

"All right," he hums, letting her fingers slip out, covered in his saliva. "We'll go with six strikes."

"… O-oh." Ahiru's face flushes across in a deep red with the realization, her body wriggling just slightly in anticipation.

She can't see him, but she feels his weight shifting the bed as he grabs her and turns her over on her stomach. She also can't see him take her wrists and pull them behind, but she feels him tying them together with the second black silk scarf from his arsenal. Once she's restrained to his liking, Fakir lets his hands trail along her back, sliding over the clothing until he reaches her backside. And he takes the hem of her shorts and tugs them down, revealing the creamy skin, dotted with a few special freckles only he knows about. He presses a finger into each blemished spot and then cups a cheek, squeezing his digits into the flesh.

"What is this?"

"Yours," Ahiru answers automatically.

In response Fakir lifts his hand and brings it down in an almighty smack against her rear, causing her to jerk forward on a shriek.

"Too much?" he asks when she convulses and rubs her bare thighs together, the mark of his hand showing up in an angry red sign on the side of her ass.

"N-no!" she pants, shaking her head as her fingers flex in and out behind her back. "Not at all…"

"Then I'll continue."

And so he does, giving her strike after strike until she's all but writhing on the bed. She squeaks out with the smacks, but by the fourth one she's moaning into the pillow, arching her hips out to just keep_taking_ it.

"Five… and _six_." For the last time Fakir brings his hand down on her rear in an audible smack, jostling her forward into the sheets.

By that time he's already hard in his pants, and he reaches down to unzip himself with a small noise in the back of his throat. She hears him behind her, shifting his weight and holding himself up on all fours to hover over her. For a moment she can't feel his contact at all, until he shifts his hips and suddenly he's there, hard and pulsating between the cheeks of her backside.

"… Why are you here," he breathes down her neck, his nose brushing the skin.

Ahiru wriggles in her spot, though she smiles against the pillow with a sudden swell of affection.

"Because I'm yours."

"Say it again."

"I belong to you."

Words she never would say outside of the bedroom. But Fakir treasures it all the same, holds those sacred words tight against his heart, because he too knows for a fact that she would never say it anywhere else—but the fact that she would indulge his dark desires like this means the world to him, everything to him. And he knows she's just as into it as he is with every shift of her hips, every breathing pant of his name, every flex of her fingers. They are in this scene with every inch of their body.

And he loves her, by god he loves her.

Reaching down to take himself in his hand, Fakir positions himself behind her and rocks his hips forward, slipping inside as they both suck in a breath. He can feel her hands quivering against his stomach as he leans out and then pushes back in again, a small dip in the water before jumping in the pool. Then he abruptly shoves himself into her on a harsh note, practically feeling her body jolt forward as she gasps with a high pitch. Clutching her hips, Fakir begins his pace—steady, even, controlled. Ahiru makes little muffled noises into the pillow on a rhythm in tune with his movements, clenching around him tighter and tighter as time moves on.

When he tucks a hand beneath her and moves up from her stomach and over her breasts, his hips begin to thrust on a less controlled level. Now he's fucking her. There are wet sounds below as the sweat on their skin smack against each other, and when his hand wraps around her thin little neck Ahiru positively moans into the open air.

Three seconds, light pressure only. That is what they agreed on when it came to breath play. And so Fakir clenches his hand around her neck, only marginally so, just enough for Ahiru's vision to cloud out for a few moments as her eyes roll back and she can feel her heartbeat ringing in her ears. And it's so _good_. When he lets go she takes in a large breath, her chest rising and falling frantically.

Fakir keeps his hand in place even after he stops issuing the pressure as a symbol of his dominance. It only makes Ahiru that much wetter as she rolls her hips back against him, letting him take her and use her and do things no one can even imagine to her. And she loves every moment of it, because only _he_ has permission to have her like this.

Sometimes it's almost scary to think of the scandalous reaction her friends would have if they ever found out the things Ahiru said and did during sex. Perhaps an even bigger scandal than if they found out what _Fakir_ did.

But it doesn't matter, because they have no plans of letting anyone know about their sex life.

It's after that when Fakir loses all semblance of control, wrapping his arms about her body and all but pounding her into the bed until he comes and spills inside of her, feeling her tighten up a few seconds later.

Once he unties her and removes the blindfold they lie in bed together several minutes later, her resting against his chest while he idly brushes his fingers through her hair, sighing in content.

Nuzzling into his skin, Ahiru smiles lazily. " 'M still sorry for the mess, y'know…"

"Never mind that," Fakir sighs, shrugging. "I've lost the energy."

Ahiru had been right to initiate the scene between them. It was much more satisfying to use their pent up energy to play with their roles instead of arguing.

He'd have to remember that for the future.

**End**


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